


people tend to disappear [no one will surprise me unless you do]

by goodandsafe



Series: 'hold me tight' verse [4]
Category: Carmilla (Web Series), Carmilla - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Found Family, Gen, POV Second Person, POV Will, Silas University, background hollstein pining, hmt verse, hold me tight verse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2018-12-15 21:46:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11814816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodandsafe/pseuds/goodandsafe
Summary: a look back on carmilla's time with will, starting with will's sixteenth birthday and as told by will.HMT Verse. you need not read the previous works, but it will help re: context.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fox-is-fandumb](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=fox-is-fandumb).



> HEY Y'ALL. guess who's back at it with more hmt verse? THIS MOI.
> 
> prompt courtesy of my good pal oaklin and dedicated/gifted to tumblr user fox-is-fandumb!
> 
> i'm happy to be writing this verse again and i hope a few of you enjoy its return!

You didn’t meet her until you were eight, but now you can hardly remember a time that Carmilla Karnstein wasn’t your sister. Though you’re ten years and a thousand miles from the day you first found one another and the house in which you grew up together, your bond has only grown stronger. In Lilita Morgan’s house, you’d seen plenty of foster children come and go over the years; you seemed to be the only one Lil could keep.

But then, Carmilla.

She stuck around. She settled in. She became your sister, and you wouldn’t trade her for the world. For all of Lilita’s shortcomings, at least she’s given you Carmilla.

When she committed to attending Silas University two years ago, you’d quietly worried that you’d lose your best friend. The pair of you did most things together and the things you _didn’t_ do together, you supported one another in. You didn’t want to lose that. You _couldn’t_. To your delight, you didn’t have to, and you and Carmilla only grew closer.

You’d always known that your sister is softer than she lets on, but it goes unspoken. She spooks easily, you’d learned early on, and you prefer to keep her close to you, so you never gave her grief when you saw her helping your elderly neighbor with his groceries or when she quietly donated her allowance money to a local school or soup kitchen or when she taught a friend’s younger sibling how to play guitar.

You’d always known that Mills is, at her core, soft and gentle and Good, but you didn’t know just how much until your sixteenth birthday.

* * *

**February 7, 2006**

Carmilla hands you a plain and small yellow envelope with your name scribed in careful cursive across the front of it and, you have to admit, you’re a little - no, a _lot_ \- confused. Your sister never gives less than 100% when it came to birthdays - especially _your_ birthday - and an envelope doesn’t feel like 100%. The envelope has weight to it, though, and after you tear it open, you flip it upside-down and a bronze key falls into the palm of your hand.

Your first thought is that Mills must be sending you on a treasure hunt, but you peek inside the envelope and there’s nothing more - no clues, no card, nothing. You look at your sister with a crinkled, questioning brow.

“What’s this?” you ask.

“Follow me,” she says, tossing your jacket at you.

So you do.

You follow your sister, then, to her old navy blue Honda Civic and climb into the passenger seat that remembers your shape.

“Where are we going?”

Carmilla sighs. “Can you just, I don’t know, _relax_?”

“You know I can’t.”

“Fine - fair - just trust me, okay, Willy-boy?”

She looks over at you then and you nod; Carmilla is the one person on this Earth that you trust over anyone or anything else.

After just a few minutes in the car, your sister pulls into one of the many strip malls that populate the downtown area. She lets the car roll to a halt in front of one of your favorite stores: Ikea.

“Are you giving me the key to the Swedish meatball vault for my birthday?”

“Sadly, no, and there’s no evidence to suggest that this Ikea is the one with the meatball vault.”

“Then why are we here? I’m a little too old to jump on the display beds.”

“You didn’t complain last week when we painstakingly and scientifically compared the Meistervik to the Hasvåg,” she says, raising an eyebrow.

“Meistervik, by a _landslide_ ,” you scoff.

“Twenty dollars more for significantly more comfort? A no-brainer,” Carmilla confirms. “Anyway, that’s why we’re here.”

“The mattresses?”

“I mean, yeah. Sort of. The Meistervik and more.” You just look at her, confused, and she rolls her eyes at you in that way that lets you know that she isn’t actually annoyed with you. Then Carmilla twists in her seat so that she’s facing you and she pulls her right leg up so that her chin is resting on her knee. A breath, and then, quietly, “I don’t want to leave you with Lilita when I go to Silas in the fall. I don’t… I don’t want to be without my brother for so long, okay? We just – it sounds awful.”

“Well, yeah, but it’s not like we can do anything about it. You have to go to college; I have to finish high school.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Well, wait, no. You _do_ have to finish high school, but I have a solution. My trust fund became available to me last September and I’ve been talking with Lilita. With her help, I’ve lined up an apartment for the fall near Silas University, which is also conveniently located in proximity to Silas Prep, a private high school. And it’s a two-bedroom apartment. One for me and one for you.”

Silence falls in the car.

“I mean, y’know, if you want it,” Carmilla adds.

Your sister looks hesitant, like she’s afraid that you don’t want to live with her.

“Of course I want it! How are we going to talk Lil into it?”

“It’s taken care of. She’s on board. Everything’s a go,” she shrugs. “You just have to say yes.”

“Do you mean it Mills?” you ask her, and you can feel yourself getting emotional. You try to swallow down the lump that’s formed in your throat.

“Duh, it’s you and me against the world, no matter what. You in?” Carmilla asks, holding her right hand out to you.

“ _So_ in,” you say and you and Carmilla slap the palms of your right hands together and simultaneously clap your left palms to your respective chests, just above your hearts. “Last one to the Kivik’s an orphan!”

You hop out of the car and start bounding for the entrance of Ikea. Carmilla’s door slams shut and then she yells after you.

“We’re both orphans, you dweeb!”

You hear her footsteps pick up speed and, over your shoulder, you call back, “That’s the point, Einstein!”

You reach the sofa section at the same time as Carmilla and you both spill onto the brown Kivik, laughing around breath ragged from running.

“Seriously though,” your sister says, “we have to get furniture and shit for this place.”

“We already have our beds, desks, and wardrobes in our bedroom at Lil’s; we’ll just take those.”

Carmilla nods and says, “So we just need to furnish the living room and eating nook. Cross this Kivik off the list of possibilities; it’s hideous.”

“We have an eating nook?”

“Fuck yeah we do. Here,” Carmilla says, handing you her phone, “swipe through these pictures. This is the place.”

“The apartment’s gonna need a cool nickname.”

“We’ll worry about that when we’re not eating our meals out of Frisbees.”

You and Carmilla spend almost four hours closely examining furniture, appliances, and various household tools, gadgets, gizmos, and accessories. By the time you’re walking back out to the Camry, you’ve compiled a detailed and organized “To Buy” list for your apartment. The Karnstein-Luce Castle? La Car-Will-a Casa? Orphan Pad? That’s a nice play on _Orphan Black,_ if you do say so yourse-

You trip over what must be your own feet and go toppling down, head over feet.

“Way to go, Einstein,” Carmilla says, trying to keep her voice even, but as you turn your fall into a barrel roll, she starts to laugh so hard that she bends over, hands planted on her thighs above her knees. You stop your roll to lay on your back, hands folded behind your head.

“The _Einstein_ Estate!” you exclaim from the pavement.

A pause, and the Carmilla repeats, “The Einstein Estate,” as she looks down on you, smiling.


	2. Junior Year, Part One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> will and carmilla begin to settle in silas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi this fic still exists even though i've neglected it since august, despite oak yelling "WILL SHOT. WILL SHOT. WILL SHOT." at me on a weekly basis
> 
> i'd intended on writing a chapter for each year of school will completes but... this bitch wordy (YEET) so, yeah. this is gonna be longer than anticipated and i barely got into his first day of school but i just love my HMT!verse will, so.
> 
> this is more fluff, really. enjoy. love u

The rest of your school year had passed relatively quickly and it’s finally time to move into your apartment with Carmilla. It’s nearly a full day’s drive to Styria, so you’d all left early. Carm shook you awake at 4:15 AM, half-heartedly threatening to leave without you if you didn’t drag your lazy ass out of bed. You’d planned to sleep in the car for part of the way so that you could trade off driving with Carm and be alert, but by the time you’re buckled into the passenger seat, you’re too amped up to sleep. To both of your surprise, Lilita offers to help; she drives the U-Haul - which is now packed with all the furniture you and Carmilla had decided on bringing, as well as the majority of your belongings - while you and Carmilla lead the way in the car you’ll now share. The back seat of Carmilla’s Civic, Celeste, is loaded with Carmilla’s guitar, your telescope, and a few more of each of your suitcases. You have a plastic bag full of snacks at your feet in the passenger seat and everything feels, just, right.

You think you should feel more sad about leaving the only home you’ve ever really known, but then you look at your sister and you remember that, for you, home is a person, not a place, and your home is going with you.

Carmilla takes a long pull from her twenty-five-ounce mug of coffee before placing it carefully in one of the cupholders and flicking your thigh.

“You’re bouncy. You okay?”

“Yeah, just that good old anticipatory anxiety. But in a good way today.”

“Good. Take your meds?”

You shake your head. “Not for a few more hours. I’m fine, Mills, really. I’m just excited.”

“Me too,” she says. “And also, a little terrified. About school.”

“Really?” you ask. “You’re great at school! Plus, you’re majoring in English; you could probably teach all of the curricula.”

“It’s more the people I’m worried about. You’re the one who, I don’t know, kind of made friends on both of our behalf in high school. I’m not _great_ with people,” she says, rolling her eyes.

You watch as her thumbs tap out a rhythm on the steering wheel.

“I wouldn’t say that,” you start. “It’s not that you aren’t good with people; it’s that you’re just not quick to trust people, but you trust me, which means you trust in my judgment of people.”

“What are you, a psychologist now?”

“Nah, just your brother.”

/

You, Carmilla, and Lilita manage to get everything unpacked relatively quickly; it isn’t like you have a _ton_ of stuff. You’d both brought only the essentials because Mills figured that you could fill in the gaps once you get settled and see what you need.

[You already know what the both of you will need - it’s all noted in your Einstein Estate binder - but you’ll do things your way, your sister will do them her way, and you’ll meet in the middle.]

You offer Lilita the living room couch to sleep on but she just says, “I should be getting back, William.”

She hugs you, and as one of her hands settles on the back of your head, you try to remember the last time she hugged you. You can’t, so this feels significant.

“Keep an eye on Carmilla,” she tells you. “She may be older than you, but she depends on you more than you realize. Let me know how you settle in at school.”

“Of course,” you answer, nodding and pulling back from her. “Thank you for your help today. We couldn’t have done all this without you.”

“I wouldn’t have you trekking so far without adult supervision,” Lil says.

You think it must be her way of communicating her affections since she’s, y’know, letting you live so far away without adult supervision.

She turns then and Carmilla walks her to the door. They’re only a few feet away from you, but they lower their voices so that you can’t hear them talking. You busy yourself with unpacking a few boxes in the living room, trying all the while to eavesdrop, to no avail.

You look up and Lilita’s hands are resting on Carmilla’s shoulders. You wish you could see Carmilla’s face to gauge her reaction, but it’s certainly the warmest you’ve ever seen your foster mother with your sister and something tightens in your chest.

Lilita turns, then, passes the threshold, and pulls the door shut behind her and silence envelops the room.

Your sister turns to you, hands on her hips, and says, “Since we’ve already invited her into our home once, does that mean she’s welcome here anytime?”

“The literature varies, but I believe we can rescind the invitation at any time,” you say, crossing your arms in front of you.

You watch Carmilla as she scans the apartment again. It’s quiet for a few long moments before she looks at you again, a soft smile turning up the corners of her mouth.

“Welcome home, Willy-Boy.”

/

There’s really only one way for you and Carmilla to christen the Einstein Estate. Mills raises the suggestion first, and, in response, you say, “Do you remember when-”

“Of course I do,” Carmilla says, feigning indifference, but her voice is small. “Why do you think I suggested it?”

“Right. Well,” you say, clapping your hands together. “Looks like we need to go to the supermarket.”

[You and your sister christen your new home by eating homemade lemon poppy seed muffins and watching _The Lion King_.]

/

Carmilla’s classes start a full two weeks before your first day at Silas Prep, which means you have the apartment entirely to yourself for big chunks of time. For the first few days, it’s fine - fun, even. You lay around in your boxers and play XBox Live for hours on end, living off of peanut-butter and banana sandwiches and Sprite - every sixteen-year-old’s dream, right?

Well it was, until it wasn’t. By day four of Carmilla’s classes, you’re antsy and feeling cooped up, so you decide to explore Styria a little bit.

Carmilla has the car so, after showering and making yourself presentable, you set out on foot. Your apartment is only two blocks from what your sister calls “the shopping district” of Styria, which makes it sound far more grand - in both quality and size - than it truly is. However, that doesn’t mean that it isn’t awfully charming.

You find yourself standing at the bottom of a small incline on the side of a road that’s marked Main Street. The streets are cobbled and the sidewalks are, even on a weekday, busy with mothers pushing strollers and people walking dogs and children skipping. Each side of the street is lined with various shops; from where you stand, you can see a bookstore, a grocery store, a music shop, the candy store out of which a handful of children just spilled, a café and a few clothing stores.

A sense of calm washes over you -you can almost imagine the peace soaking down from your hair down to your toes - as you take in the sight.  

You quickly decide that your best course of action is to just walk up one side of the street and back down the other. It’s only 10:00am, so you have plenty of time before your sister will be back and in any case, you’re sure she’ll think it’s good for you to be out of the apartment after “stinking it up with your boy smell” for the last few days.

As you head up the street, you nod and smile at each person you pass, hands pressed into the pockets of your jeans and shoulders drawn up tight. You feel like you stick out, being a newcomer, but everyone returns your silent greeting and it’s comforting.

You can’t help but study each store sign and window you come across, but you don’t enter any of them until you reach what looks like a sporting goods store. When you push the door open, a tiny bell sounds and a few employees of the small shop turn to look at you.

A brown-haired male says, “Welcome to Styrian Sporting Goods. Can I help you find something?”

“I’m just looking,” you say, adding, “but thank you, sir.”

“Give us a holler if you need anything,” he says, nodding.

You weave through a few aisles, passing an alarming amount of crossbows and not seeing anything else of interest to you, before you come to an area with lower shelves, giving you a clear view of the back half of the store. Some kids who look to be your age catch your attention. They’re chatting, laughing, and tossing around a football and it’s hard not to be drawn toward the sound. You stand on the edge of their vision, just watching as they fool around, and after a minute or two, the six of them split into two teams and set up a real play. The loudest and goofiest of them seems to be the quarterback, so you watch him as he calls out the play.

On the word “hike,” he receives the ball from the boy playing center and drops back three quick steps, given the space he has available. The defensive tackle quickly overtakes the center and is a step away from the quarterback when he flings the football to his right side, so as not to be sacked, toward you.

The ball is thrown in a perfect spiral and, judging by the arc of it, is heading just yards away from you. Instinct takes over and you take a few quick steps to your right before pushing off and diving toward the ball to catch it before tucking your shoulder and turning your dive into a quasi-somersault. You manage to pull it off smoothly and propel yourself up to your feet, football tucked under your arm, and you’re met with the slack-jawed expressions of six teenagers.

You meekly fit your right hand to the seams of the football and rocket it back toward the kid playing quarterback and upon catching it, the boy raises both of his hands in the air and shouts, “Dude!!”

You offer a small wave and the entire group bursts into cheers, which prods you into giving them a deep, dramatic bow. By the time you rise back up to your full height, the brown-haired man from the front has made his way to your side.

“Kirsch, what did I tell you kids about scrimmages in my store?”

“Uh, not do to them?”

“Right!” the man shouts to them. “So what should you _not_ be doing right now?”

The attention of everyone in the room turns from you and you take the opportunity to flee the space.

“Having a scrimmage?” you hear, and then, “Exactly! Either buy that ball or get on out of here!”

You quickly slip back out onto the sidewalk and continue your way up Main Street, keeping yourself from entering the higher-end shops at the top of the small hill. As you cross the street and make your way back down, you stop in a few shops - GameStop for a copy of _Ghost Recon_ , the bookstore for a Jack Kerouac book for your sister, and the café for some treats - before happily and lazily heading back to the apartment, bags in hand.

/

Taking this route becomes a daily routine for the next two weeks, even if you don’t buy anything most days. You always - _always_ \- stop in the café, Mo’ Joe, though and very quickly the staff - including the owner, Moe - come to know you by name.

On the last day of summer before school starts, you stop in at what’s become your regular time - 10:30am - and Moe is at the front counter.

“Young William!” his voice booms as you cross the threshold of the shop. For being in his late sixties, Moe is one of the most energetic, charismatic people you’ve ever met, especially given that, no matter the weather and despite the fact that he resides in a landlocked town, he always looks as if he’s about to board a cruise ship.

“Morning, Moe,” you say, approaching the counter.

You look up at the menu board, as if you’re going to order anything different than you have since the first time you stepped foot in this shop, and Moe humors you until you look back at him.

Before you can rattle off your order, he holds up a bag.

“Already got your order ready. Plus a large hot cocoa. All on the house!”

You pull out your wallet anyway and say, “I can’t let you do that.”

“I don’t wanna hear it,” he says, waving you off. “Consider it a good luck gift for your first day at Prep tomorrow, not that you’ll need it.”

You take a $5 bill from your wallet and stuff it in the tip jar before Moe can stop you.

“Thanks, Moe. That ‘help wanted’ sign,” you say, jabbing your thumb over your shoulder, “You’re hiring?”

“Sure am. A few of the local kids went out of town for school, so I’m short a few hands. Interested?”

“Maybe,” you start. “I mean, I don’t know what my workload is gonna be like for school, but if I could work a few days a week, I could help my sister more with bills and stuff.”

Moe smiles his full, toothy grin.

“Tell ya what, I’ll keep a spot open for you. Come see me after you get comfortable at school and we’ll talk then.”

/

That night, you’re wholly unable to sleep. After tossing and turning for a few hours, you decide to quit for a while and you head out to the living room to watch tv. Your sister is there, tapping away at her laptop, and she looks up as you enter.

“Can’t sleep?” You shake your head and she pats the cushion next to her. “Put on some Hitchcock.”

After rifling through your Masterpiece Collection box set to find the movie you’re after, you set up the DVD player and settle into the couch and wait for your sister who, in the meantime, has disappeared into the kitchen. She comes back a few minutes later, double fisting mugs, and you quickly find out that she’s made a cup of cocoa for you and coffee for herself. Carmilla sets the mugs down on the coffee table before throwing your favorite movie-watching blanket at you and reclaiming her space on the couch. The title card shows on-screen and your sister nudges you.

When you tear your eyes from the screen to look at her, Carmilla’s smiling that quiet and soft but rare smile of hers and she says, “For someone with severe anxiety, it’s ironic that a film about a serial killer calms you.”

You roll your eyes and look back to the screen, not wanting to miss a moment.

“It’s not the _murder_ that’s interesting, Mills. It’s the suspense! It’s the nuance of the characters and the composition of it all. It’s Hitchcock’s best work! The Library of Congress even agrees.”

You hear Carmilla resume typing before she says, “Fair enough, Willy Boy. You’re the expert.”

[You fall asleep beside your sister, your head on her shoulder, just before Uncle Charlie boards the train.]

/

The next morning, you’re standing in front of the full-length mirror in your room, scanning your outfit up and down. Unlike your public school back in Cupertino, Silas Prep has a dress code, which makes picking an outfit for the first day of junior year _very_ easy. Silas Prep’s colors are almost exactly the same as Carmilla’s Silas U, which are red and gold, but Headmaster Nichols was very particular about the description of Silas Prep’s uniforms when you’d picked yours up the week before.

“ _Silas Preparatory Academy’s tradition of seeking knowledge, elegance, and determination and is long-honored. In part, we reflect those ideals in the colors of we don every time we step foot inside these halls. From the ebony of your coat or sweater to the crimson of your tie to the lemon chiffon of your dress shirt, you will be exuding the essence of those very ideals and so much more,"_ he’d said.

[When you had relayed all this to Carmilla in what you believe to be a very accurate impersonation of the headmaster, she’d laughed so hard that tears streamed down her face.]

Now, standing in these clothes for the first time, you lose the sense of familiarity and comfort you’d gained in your first few weeks here. Looking back at you in the mirror is not the young man who greets strangers on the cobblestone streets of Styria or who jokes with shopkeepers or who lives without adult supervision. In front of you is a boy nervously straightening out the perfectly-ironed button-down shirt and fighting with the knot of his tie.

As if she could hear your whirling mind, your sister knocks on the frame of your door.

“Need help with that tie?” You don’t trust your voice, so you just nod. “My Windsor knot is no fuckin’ joke.”

Carmilla walks to you, then, and pries your fingers from the tie. She silently fixes it for you while you focus on steadying your breath. When she finishes, she puts a hand on either of your shoulders.

“Hey, look at me,” she says, and you do. “You’re gonna be great. You look like a total prep school nerd and you’ll feel comfortable in no time. You were practically the mayor of our high school as a _freshman_ , Will. It’s okay to be afraid. _Stay_ afraid, if you need to, but don’t let it hold you back. If anything goes wrong, just bail to the nurse’s office and call me; I can be there in no time at all.”

“You have class,” you say, voice small.

“Will,” Carmilla says, laughing softly and ruffling your hair, “you’re my brother. Little brothers trump _everything_. Always. Okay?”

“Okay,” you nod.

“Alright, grab your sweater and show those nerds what Will Luce is all about.”

You look back in the mirror and groan before dashing to the bathroom before Carmilla can catch up with you.

“I have to fix my hair,” you call over your shoulder. “You ruined it!”

/

You could easily walk to Silas Prep, but Carmilla insists on dropping you off.

“It’s your first day,” she says as she locks the door to the apartment. “You gotta arrive in style.”

“I love Celeste, but she’s not of this decade, Mills. I wouldn’t exactly call her stylish.”

“Don’t you dare say that in front of her,” she says, holding up a finger to you. “She’s a woman of class.”

/

The drive to school is quick, but is just long enough for you and Mills to sing along to your favorite song together, and before you know it you’re slamming the door of the Civic shut and watching your sister drive away. She waves and you hold up your hand for a few seconds before turning to face Silas Preparatory Academy.

The first bell doesn’t ring for another - you look down at your watch - twenty-five minutes, so it makes sense that the front lawn is still littered with groups of students. As you start up the path toward the front entrance, you notice that you’re the only student - the _only_ student - not wearing the red-piped Silas Prep jacket, having opted for the sweater. Headmaster Nichols - he’d said that the jacket and sweater were interchangeable! That you could wear either! You thought you were picking the more popular option, with it being relatively more casual than a fucking suit jacket, and now here you are, on your first day in a new school in a new town being the only person wearing a fucking sweater!

As if you weren’t already going to stand out for being new, now you’re _also_ visibly set apart from everyone else.

You pick up your pace toward the doors and push through them, trying both not to knock into anyone and not to make eye contact with anyone - student _or_ teacher.

Your locker is just outside of your homeroom, so you decide that’s the safest place for the time being. Thankfully, you’re not lugging all of the required supplies in your backpack - Carmilla had helped you organize your locker a few days prior - so you’re able to open your locker with ease and fill your black Jansport with only the essential items for your first three periods of the day.

There’s still time to spare before homeroom, so you pull out some photos and tape from the front pouch of your backpack. Most of them feature you and your sister, but there are also a few with some friends from home and even one with you, Carmilla, and Lilita. When you’re satisfied with the arrangement, you close your locker quietly, with just enough force for the lock to engage. As you’re twisting the knob absentmindedly you hear a commotion down the hallway to your left. You turn to look at a tall boy - the one from Styrian Sporting Goods - points at you with both hands, arms outstretched.

“Dude, you’re the dude! Guys,” he says, getting his friends’ attention, “this is him! Dude! That catch was - dude! - no one believed you were real. One minute you were there, diving and flipping and making an impossible catch and the next minute, you were gone! Poof! But I told them - I _told_ them - that it was possible for such a legend to live among us mere mortals.”

You look him over and he is, in a word, unkempt. He’s adhering to the dress code, but only just. His Silas Prep jacket is flung over his shoulder, the button-up he wears is slightly wrinkled and he’s rolled up the sleeves, his khakis hang low on his hips, and he’s wearing a pristine pair of Air Jordans on his feet. When he reaches you, the boy claps you on the bicep; his friends gather behind him and when you look around, you realize that you’ve gained the attention of most of the students in the hallway. The boy keeps talking and you look back up at him, as he’s easily got five inches on you.

“You go here now?”

You shrug and nod, thinking about how Carmilla would say something along the lines of, “Good one, Captain Obvious. What gave it away?”

He’s big and bumbling and kind, though, so you say, “I just moved here a few weeks ago.”

“That’s awesome! Welcome to Silas Prep. I’m Kirsch - well, that’s my last name, but everyone just calls me Kirsch, even the teachers.”

You hold your hand out for him to shake and say, “I’m Will. Will Luce.”

He grips your hand and gives it a solid shake before moving to your side and putting an arm around your shoulders.

“Will Luce,” he says, gesturing with his free hand to the small group in front of you. “Meet the gang.”

You quickly scan each person standing in a small huddle in front of you from left to right. The first two of them are familiar to you, as they were in the sporting goods store. One is the girl who played defensive back and she’s your height with dark hair and skin and a small smile. The other is a red-headed boy, whose face is sprinkled with freckles across his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Other than those two, there are an additional three people. The next is a tall girl with dark brown hair; she looks as excited as Kirsch sounds. Following her are two boys - a set of _twins_ \- who would be identical if the one on your right didn’t have dyed blue hair. Then Kirsch rattles off their names, pointing at each one in succession.

“We’ve got Aaliyah, Alex, Sarah Jane, Carson, and Adrian.”

The quintet says their various hellos and you smile and give a lazy and awkward salute in response. You immediately regret it but then the entire group smiles at you and you relax.

“Are you all juniors?” you ask.

“I am,” Kirsch says, “and so are Alex, Carson, and Adrian.”

“I’m a senior and so is SJ,” Aahliyah says, before adding, “and also, my friends call me Lee, just so you know.”

She winks and you feel your cheeks redden so instead of responding you just smile at her. Just then, the first bell rings and you instinctively look up at the ceiling.

Aahliyah reaches for Sarah Jane’s arm and says, “We better head to J-Wing.” Sarah groans but complies and the two girls wave goodbye to the group.

“Who do you have for homeroom?” Kirsch asks, letting his arm drop to his side?

You pull your schedule out of your pocket and Kirsch excitedly snatches it from your grasp. He scans the top of the document quickly and then does what you can only describe as a brief happy dance before shoving your schedule back at you.

“You have Mrs. Dils too! Sweet, dude! These clowns are down the hall in Mr. Romero’s room, but Dils is where it’s at.”

“Whatever, Kirsch,” one of the twins - Adrian, you think - says. The three boys start walking away and the same twin calls out over his shoulder. “See you at lunch!”

“Come on,” Kirsch says, nodding to the classroom nearby. “Let’s go grab seats together.”

You follow him and settle at two desks in the back corner and Kirsch asks for your schedule again. He lays the two sheets of paper side-by-side on his desk and compares them and when he celebrates upon realizing that you share gym, chemistry, English, and lunch together, you join him, feeling the stress of your first day melt away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can always catch me at good-and-safe on tumblr

**Author's Note:**

> please, please, please note that will's joke about orphans is meant to be lighthearted - humor is how will and carm bonded - and i Do Not intend to offend. me and oak mulled it over and decided to keep the joke in, but if it doesn't sit right with you, please let me know and i will revise it. 
> 
> come find me on tumblr at good-and-safe for anything and everything HMT (and... other... gay stuff) related. love u


End file.
